


Oasis (Hold the Lemon)

by firesign10



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign10/pseuds/firesign10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester runs into Michael the Wraith at a crummy bar, where they discuss their fates and natures over tequila.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oasis (Hold the Lemon)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to sabinelagrande and intoabar on LJ for hosting this challenge! Thanks to tolakasa for her beta work and feedback. Thanks to roxymissrose and fanspired for their feedback!

Michael was disgusted. He was fed up with humans - their petty desires, their clumsy machinations, their squalid little lives. Humans were only good for eating. Just thinking about eating them made his palms itch. _Soon,_ he thought to himself, _soon I'll be showing those sweaty mammals just who's in charge._

He'd been idly roaming the streets of this crappy little town when he decided to stop at this . . . what was the word? Oh, bar, that's right. This was a bar, and its purpose was serving various flavors of alcohol to humans. Purportedly, the alcohol tasted good, but Michael remembered enough of human life to know that humans loved the effects of it regardless of taste. They could "party it up" and "have a good time". They might "get lucky" and have sex with other humans. He snorted. Just disgusting. Fucking fodder, that's all they were good for.

It was crowded in the dimly lit bar, yellow light that spilled blotchily over battered tables and flimsy chairs. It was full of humans of both sexes, all of them talking or laughing loudly as they clutched glasses and bottles in their maimed, slit-less hands. Females were dressed in clothes that were too tiny, too tight, or both, displaying the round curves of tits and asses. Their blatant sexual display repulsed Michael, but it also rekindled images of Teyla deep in his mind. Teyla wore tight tops binding her breasts, snug breeches over her thighs, and she showed skin as well, but she did it all as a warrior - not a slut like these human females. Michael's penis twitched in his pants as Teyla's image hovered in front of him, but then he shook his head angrily, dispelling the vision as he thumped the bar for another drink.

Several men were gathered nearby at the bar, standing or perched on stools along the scarred wood, laughing boisterously as they slammed overflowing brown bottles together and tried to grope the nearby women. Michael heard them talking about "dicks" and "pussies" and "banging" amidst the raunchy laughter, and the empty words flew past him. Ignoring the noisy clump of men, he tersely ordered a beer before drifting down the length of the bar to the end. Sipping the cold beverage, he felt the alcohol start to seep into his cells, cushioning the disgust and despair that roiled inside him.

Settling on a stool at the end of the bar, Michael drew a deep breath to relax now that he was away from the randy men. A solitary man walked by him and sat down just around the corner of the bar. The bartender set a beer bottle and a shot glass in front of him. He paid no attention to Michael or the rowdy crowd as he took a long pull on his beer, then lifted the shot glass and tossed the liquor down his throat. The man raised his eyes and tapped the bar. The bartender bustled back over and filled the glass with golden liquid before turning back to serve the rest of the bar.

"Bunch of assholes, aren't they?"

Michael looked from his own beer to the man sitting at an angle to him. The man took his shot glass, brought it to his mouth and tipped it back on one smooth motion, draining it before gently placing it back on the dark wood. He delicately licked his lips and shivered momentarily. "They're all a bunch of fucking assholes. Not concerned with anything beyond their own dicks. World could be going to hell," the man snickered, "and all they care about is drinking themselves sick and fucking as much as they can." He snorted in disgust. "Fuck 'em. Fuck 'em all. Do they even deserve a shot at living?"

Michael couldn't help the derogatory sound that left his mouth. "Sorry, you're asking the wrong guy." He pulled hard on his beer before flicking his eyes at the other man. The guy was a tall specimen, that was clear - even sitting on the stool, Michael could tell he had to be well over six feet. Trapped for now in his stupid human body, the other man's height made Michael miss the tall, willowy forms of his fellow Wraith. He studied the tall man more openly, noting the thick, brown hair that fell below the collar of the man's plaid flannel shirt, the strong jaw line and angular nose. His hands dwarfed the slender beer bottle as they wrapped around it.

Possibly feeling Michael's stare, the man looked up at him. Michael was surprised at his eyes. They were set in his face at a slight tilt, but even more unusual was the color . . . or colors. Blue, gold, and green were all mixed inside them, instead of the usual flat monotone of human eyes. It was . . . arresting. Michael reluctantly admitted to himself that not since he'd fallen into Teyla's chocolate eyes had anyone's held any attraction for him.

"Sam," said the man, extending one of those large hands to Michael. He stared at it for a moment, wondering if the man was trying to eat him, then remembered the human custom of clasping each other's hand in greeting. 

He shook Sam's hand stiffly, muttering "Michael" in return.

"Don't mean to intrude, dude, just seemed like you wanted company. No offense taken if you just want to be left alone." Sam gestured for a refill on his shot glass.

"No, no, I'm just - I've been alone for quite a while, and I'm rusty at being . . . social. Interacting." Sam nodded and raised two fingers to the bartender, who obligingly brought a second glass as he came over. He filled them both and then set the bottle down at Sam's wave.

"Cheers," Sam said, and the men tossed back the liquor. Michael had forgotten what this type of drink felt like and shuddered even as the taste exploded across his tongue. Sam laughed. "Not used to tequila? Supposed to drink it with salt and lemon, but who's got time for that? Angels and demons breathing down your neck, an apocalypse just around the bend, you don't stop to fart around with condiments, right?"

Michael chuckled despite himself. This human had an interesting sense of humor. And while he didn't know anything about angels and demons, he sure knew a thing or two about apocalypses. He pushed his glass over to Sam, who refilled it obligingly.

"What are these angels and demons you mention?"

Sam snorted. "You asking rhetorically, dude? One's supposed to be the good guys and the other, the bad guys. Both, however, really just want things to go their way, and they don't give a rat's ass about collateral damage. Even if the collateral damage is the entire human race. Or the planet itself, for that matter." Sam slugged down a shot. "Like some massive game of chicken."

The "chicken" reference went over Michael's head, but he got the destruction of a race part just fine. He'd leveled a planet or two himself, to say nothing of destroying the inhabitants upon it. Sam was a very interesting being, for a human. And he wasn't shy with the booze, either.

"Why do they want to destroy the Earth?" Michael was curious. He knew why _he_ destroyed planets: food and power. And maybe some other issues, like revenge. And rage. And - okay, he was getting distracted. Must be the tequila.

Sam sighed tiredly. "The demons want to because they're demons and that's what demons do - destroy stuff. Kill people for kicks. The angels want to stop the demons, but don't care if they blow up the planet while they're at it. They don't care if the human race is immolated - they just want peace and paradise. For them, that is. And my brother and I are being squeezed between them. We're in a fucking vise, and the screw is turning tighter every day. The angels want to use Dean and the demons want to use me, and either way everything will go kaboom!" Sam's hands mimicked an explosion before settling around his beer bottle again.

Michael looked into Sam's eyes and saw tears there. The man was truly tormented about this. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Michael felt some vestiges of human emotion stirring. Reaching over, he stiffly patted the other man's arm.

Sam laughed bitterly as he ran a hand over his eyes. "Sorry to get all on-the-beach on you. It's just so fucking messed up. My brother and I have been hunting things and saving people our whole lives. It's pretty much been our family business. Our dad died doing it, our mom died because of it. Then we just found out recently that I was contaminated with demon blood as a baby. Ever since then, I've been struggling with my own split nature. Like, I'm not intrinsically evil. But because of the blood forced into me, evil stuff keeps trying to turn me darkside and use me anyway. It's highly possible that my destiny is to be the Boy-King of Hell, and I'm fighting it as hard as I can." He shook his head and took a long swallow of beer. "I just don't know if I'm strong enough to keep it from happening."

"I . . . am somewhat familiar with your internal struggle," Michael said slowly. "I deal with a dual nature as well. On one side, I am human, albeit artificially. It was not my choice. Yet I truly am Wraith, ravager of planets, and thus diametrically opposed to humans in every way. Every moment I spend in this form is infuriating. And yet, I have moments - like this, with you, or with my Teyla - where being human is . . . not so distasteful." He tossed down the waiting shot. "It is extremely unpleasant to be neither one or the other, and yet - both."

~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~ @ ~

Sam listened and watched his drinking companion, studying him despite the buzz he was now feeling. The man really did seem to get where Sam was coming from, although via a different path. And what the fuck were "Wraith"? Sam knew about the wraiths that altered perception and poisoned their victims with a stick sheathed in their arm, but this sounded different. Michael said "Wraith", not " _a_ wraith" or " _the_ wraith". And Sam was pretty sure he heard a capital "w" there. Ravager of planets? That sure didn't sound good at all.

Right now, though, they were . . . comrades. Maybe not allies, but they understood each other on a level that no one else could. Sam knew Dean loved him like no other, would die for him - _had_ died for him. Yet there was no way Dean could grasp this conflict, no way he could comprehend the deepest aspect of Sam's warring natures. It simply was outside the realm of his understanding. And so Sam shut it all up, imprisoned it as best he could, and soldiered on through the messy business that was the Winchesters' lot.

And then he stepped into a bar for a drink and met Michael. Possibly the one man - and Sam used the term loosely - in the fucking universe that could truly understand.

"One more for the road, dude," Sam said as he poured the last of the tequila. They clinked glasses and shot it. Sam ran a hand through his hair as he caught his breath. "Listen, man, I gotta tell you - thank you. Thanks for listening to my freaky tale of my freaky, fucked up life, and even more? Thanks for understanding. It means more to me than you know."

Michael stood up and shook Sam's hand. "Likewise. Trapped in this form as I am for now, it was . . . liberating to talk with you. While I have no angels or demons to deal with, I have plenty of other enemies, as well as warring with myself. I, too, appreciate your attention."

The two men stood quietly for a moment, hands clasped loosely, an island of silence and stillness in the whirling microcosm of the busy bar. Far outside the bar itself, the world turned, the cosmos spun, and forces of vast and terrible scope gathered. The men felt it, sensed the gathering darkness and the weight of their respective fates, but here and now - in this humble bar - they had a moment of shared peace.

And it was enough.


End file.
